The Smile Is Only Skin Deep
by TheMurfinator
Summary: Everyone has a dark side. You embrace it or allow yourself to go insane denying it; either way, it will be acknowledged. So, really, we all have multiple personalities. I stopped looking for the monster under my bed when I realized it was inside of me. (Italicized portions are flashbacks. They are separated from reality by squiggles or horizontal lines.)
1. Chapter 1

**I**

_The sun graces my skin: rays of light bounce off the water. The smell of summer arouses nostrils and the sound of music dances through the air. _"Hey, guys! Guess what? It's summer! So, let's start it off right!" _The first chords soar over the laughter and cheers. I glance over the crowd and there he is; tall, dark, and almost handsome._

* * *

"Thanks so much for taking this patient," The old man smiled a smile that could melt any heart; it was the most innocent of all innocence. "Ever since Ms. Quinzel left, we've been short on staff." His body language immediately changed. He seemed uneasy simply mentioning her name: I could understand why, though it had no effect on me. "I understand, Doctor. I'll do what I can."

Psychology was not a field I ever intended on pursuing as a career. I was an artist; performing weekdays in orchestras and weekends in nightclubs. I had mastered the mentality of an orchestral instrumentalist, as well as the swagger of a temporal musician. I was on a fast track to nowhere, so I had to turn. Psychology was at the end of that road.

* * *

_The music's over. I am wading through an ocean of bodies searching for the coffee-colored hair. _"Hey," _a voice as rich as coffee itself ends my search, _"Pretty kick ass job. Is it cool if we hang out?" "Oh," _I smile, _"I guess I got some time for you."

* * *

It isn't all that bad; decent pay and a plethora of diverse subjects is more than the mass populous receive in their 9 to 5 jobs. It's just that one cannot simply begin to fathom the cloud of guilt, disappointment, and shame that encompasses an artist once they have abandoned their art. A wave of nostalgia swallows me every time I see a concert flier or hear live music, yet I resent it. People have asked, "Why don't you get back out there?" It isn't that simple; however, one must have a desire to 'get back out there'. I do not.

The walls were white, the windows barred, and the noises blood curdling. An urgent newscast on TV abruptly interrupted our excursion to the patient, "… The Joker has escaped Arkham Asylum… nine killings have already been discovered… torturing and maiming of victims…" He piqued my interest. "Doctor…?" "Yes, Ms. Balafré?" "That man, The Joker. What did Harleen diagnose him with?" "Well, if you want her files, you're welcome to them. They should answer whatever questions you have; however, if you take them, he becomes your patient." We continued walking in silence until we reached the patient's door, "Ah, here we are."

* * *

"So, what do you do? Like, hobbies and stuff." _He's interesting enough to pique my curiosity._ "Well, I'm an orchestral instrumentalist." "Oh, me, too!" _I am happy in this moment, right now. _"Well, I'm sure we'll cross paths professionally this summer." _He smiles. My summer quickly became a whirlwind of rehearsals, recording, and romance._

* * *

The Doctor opened the door to a dark room, lighted only by dust-induced rays that filtered through the window. He nodded towards the patient and looked at me with concerned eyes before closing the door. "You're new," stated the patient, "What took you so long? Were you too scared? Did you have to prepare yourself?" "No," I said casually, "I was watching the news. Something about The Joker." The patient's head rose quickly, "Oh? You're intrigued by him?" I open my mouth to speak, but he interrupts, "Or disgusted, rather, since you're _normal_."

* * *

_I left my band to travel with the New York Youth Philharmonic. I am first chair flute, while Derek is first percussionist. We travel around the world; the orchestra, Derek, and I. Usually, we are in rehearsals, but today we are free. Free from responsibility and restraint. The cold air brushed my blushing cheeks. _"I've only ever dreamed of coming here," _I smiled_, "But it's even better that I'm here with you." _He seemed tense. He shifted his weight as if he was uncomfortable._

* * *

"Intrigued, actually," I grinned ever so slightly. "No, no…" He shook his head, "Don't think you can make me believe you're one of _us_. You're not." "Hmph," I lit a cigarette, "I beg to differ." I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward to meet the patient at eye-level, "The only difference between you and I is…," I looked both ways slowly and whispered, "they haven't caught me yet." I smirked. The patient leaned back against the wall. "Heh," he grinned, "He'd like you." He gave an approving nod and shrugged, "He might just end up with you."

We sat for a long time in silence as I pondered those words. The deafening silence was broken, "Aren't you going to 'evaluate' me?" "No. Do you want me to?" He looked at me with unsure eyes, "Is that really a question?" "Then, it's settled." I stood and walked to the door. I flicked my cigarette, "Nice talk."

* * *

_His brow is bent with thought, _"It is a year today, Lane." _I close my eyes and sigh dreamily, _"I know." _He opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself. _"Is there something wrong, honey?" _I look at him with concern in my eyes. The corners of his mouth turn towards the cloudy sky as his luminous teeth slowly emerge into a crescent moon. _

* * *

All the way home, my mind was plagued with thoughts of The Joker. _He might just end up with you. _Would he? "I hope he does," I admitted aloud to myself.


	2. Chapter 2

** II**

After releasing the familiar chill in my vein, I sit and listen to the sounds of the life I perceive; I hear the colors of Brahms' Tragic Overture pouring through the television speakers and I see the sounds of the rushing water in the bathtub. In an odd way, it is indubitably stunning; however, it is painstakingly frightening. I drown in crashing waves of confused perception; visual sound girdles me with constricting lace of colors. One simply cannot understand Synesthesia without experiencing it.

In the midst of my sensual expedition, I remember Harleen's files. A question succumbs my mind; _What is his real name? _I begin vigorously searching through the files. _C'mon, where is it? A name… he has to have a name! _The only thing Harleen refers to him as is patient 4479. "There is no way- " There was a knock at the door. I reluctantly place the file on the paper mountain and rigidly open the door. Everything went black.

* * *

"Derek? What's going on with you?" _I giggle and nudge him. He exhales and kneels in front of me_. _A purple velvet box is lingering in front of me, cradled by quivering hands. _"Elaine Michelle Balafré, will you marry me?" _He smiles a smile that can melt any heart; it is the most innocent of all innocence. I simply nod and bring his face up to meet my lips in a gentle kiss._ _Our linked silhouettes disappear into the dense Ireland fog._

* * *

_It's so cold, _I thought to myself, _I'm numb. _My head pulsed with confusion as well as pain. _I… can't move. _I desired more than anything to just stand; however, I couldn't even open my eyes. Standing was out of the question. I just laid there; thinking, breathing. I felt the grasp of cold hands against my sides. _Who the hell is touching me?! _I tried squirming and kicking for release, with no luck; however, I had managed to open my eyes. Everything was marginally distorted, but _he_ was perfectly clear.

"Put her down," he said in an amused tone. "But Mistah J!" She whined in a Jersey accent as she released me. "Oh, hell no. I can put up with you, but I gotta deal with the whiny bitch, too?" "Hahaha! I like you already," he said in a sadistic tone. Harleen was offended, though I'm not sure by whom. "Look, Doctor, how about you and I take a little trip to the basement, hmm?" I gave her a dull look, "Look, Harleen, how about you shut the fuck up and go the fuck on? Obviously, I'm here for a reason, so why don't you let the grown-ups talk whilst you go play for a while?" I'm usually not that snarly, but when I'm provoked… Well, you see the product. Her face twisted with shock, hate, and anger. The Joker stood back to admire the conflict, "Now, now, ladies. No need to cause a fuss. Harley, go assess whatever issue the henchmen were having earlier." "But Mistah J, I'm sure by now the-" "I said, go." "Make yourself useful and go baby-sit, is what he means," I smirked. She grudgingly slumped away as The Joker stifled a laugh, "I see someone has a sense of humor." "Eh, I like to think of it as sadistic wit or dark sarcasm." He grinned.

* * *

_ The rest of this trip is now a blur of blushing bridal fantasies. Derek and I are so immersed in one another, we barely remember we are in Ireland on business terms._

* * *

"So, why am I here?" "Oh, why does there always have to be a reason?" "You obviously need me for something. Otherwise you wouldn't have kidnapped me or kept me alive." "Ah, touché. Smart girl, you. Well, you see, I keep track of everyone in and out of that asylum. You're a new face, so I looked into you. Just so happens that I'm looking for another scientist with diverse capabilities like myself. You're ideal _and_ beautiful. Yes, quite beautiful. That's just a plus." "You're offering me a job?" "I'm not offering. You _are_ working for me. There's no option."

"When do I start?" His expression dropped from intimidating to astonished. "Oh… now." "You didn't expect me to cooperate." "Of course I did. You'd die otherwise." "You need me. You won't do a damn thing." "But _I_ will!" Harleen's voice shrilled with anger. She appeared from some elevated point and began running straight towards me. I stood perfectly still breathing calmly, with every muscle relaxed. My peripheral view was impeccable; I had leverage, she had nothing. _Closer…_ I couldn't contain myself. _And here… we… go! _She fell to the ground. The world around me froze; paused as if it were in shock or fear. Fear of what I might do next. I hear this slow applause crescendo from the darkness; I feel the vibration of the sound. "I didn't know you had it in you." Harley struggles to her feet, "Mistah J! Help me! Why are ya lettin' her do this to me? Why, why, whyyy?!"

* * *

_ We return to America with marriage on our minds and love in our hearts. I sit and ponder my situation: will everything fall together or fall apart? We agree on fulfilling the teenage dream of running away together. Our desires to elope, fill the tank, and cruise into the sunset are no longer just a fantasy.. _

* * *

"I guess you'll both have to play nice and be mine." My mood immediately changed, "Hell no, I'm not going to be your puppet." He stared at me with a blank expression that constructed a pit of fear in the bottom of my stomach. "Oh, what is this? Are you… nervous?" He moved slowly towards me and the familiar pain began to rise in my temples. "You look nervous." I smirked, "Heh, no." We were no more than three inches apart when he whispered, "You aren't? I think you should be." "Yeah, but that's the thing," Our noses were almost touching, "I'm not." I smiled menacingly. His face dropped and he walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

"Ms. Balafré? Ms. Balafré, can you hear me?" _I open my eyes slowly and blink the blurriness out. The nurse's accent makes it difficult to understand her in my already muddled state. _"My name isn't Ms. Balafré. I'm married. It's Mrs. Williamson." _Her brow wrinkles with confusion, _"Ma'am, you're only eighteen. Your name is Elaine Balafré. You have no marital history." _I cringe when I begin to sit up, _"I'm married to a Derek Williamson. We eloped yesterday."

* * *

It's the first day on the job. Oddly enough, I feel excited: as one would for any new occupation. Maybe it wasn't because I had a new job, but because I knew my thirst for chaos would soon be quenched. Either way, I'm being productive while pleasing myself. Altruism never hurt anyone, did it?

I sat staring at the reflective metal of the table. I saw my live portrait, but I didn't see me. Part of me recognized the woman staring back; the other half saw the monster for the first time. So, go ahead, call me Schizophrenic. Blame it on Manic-Depressive Disorder. Tell me the source of my problems are insecurities. Let me tell you: it's bullshit.

* * *

"You're delusional right now. You were in a car acci-." "What?! Is he okay?!" _My face contorts with concern. She looks at me with sympathetic eyes_, "I-I'm sorry." _She leaves._

* * *

Everyone has a dark side. You embrace it or allow yourself to go insane denying it; either way, it will be acknowledged. In a way, we all have multiple personalities. Think of it as your shadow: it lingers over you as a black silhouette until the dark completely consumes you like the cloak of midnight. Then, you are unified. I stopped looking for the monster under my bed when I realized it was inside of me.

* * *

_I sit in the hospital bed, my eyes fixed on no particular point; however, they are unmoving. The empty void where my heart once was becomes a black hole, sucking in every bit of humanity I have left. Within a couple of hours, a doctor comes in. _"What happened?" _I ask bluntly. _"Well, you see, I don't feel it appro-" "I want you to tell me everything vividly without excluding one detail." _It was a command more than a request. My voice was frigid and distant, like a solitary glacier floating in a melancholy ocean. _

* * *

The egregious vibration of a chair scraping the ground interrupted my thoughts, "Hiii." "I have to go to work," I said blandly, for the familiar pain in my temples began. "Oh, but you're here." "No, at the asylum. I'm still a psychologist." "Don't talk like you're one of _them_. You're not," His face expressed a tinge of worry. "Look," I got eye-level with him, "We have a lot in common, you and I. I just haven't gotten caught. I'd like to keep it that way." He leaned back, "Ohhhhh, I see! You maintain a socially acceptable life whilst entertaining your inner demons. I like it." "I have leverage this way. _They_ have no advantage." He smiled menacingly, "How does the duality take affect on you?" I stand up, "I'm going to work. I'll be ho-…" He lifted his eyebrow, "I'll be back after work," I turned and left. "Stop looking at my ass, I'm not Harleen." The door slammed shut.

* * *

_He sighs and begins to speak, _"You were driving down the free way when an eighteen wheeler lost control. The van was completely flattened," _his volume lowers_, "and he was dead when we arrived on scene. You were out cold and it is a miracle you're alive. You only sustained minor injuries to the head, but we've taken care of it. You should be out of here within a couple of days." _He bows his head_, "I greatly apologize for your loss." _He leaves._

* * *

"Hello, Ms. Balafré! How are you?" There was that smile. For a moment, a glint of guilt shined in my heart. I opened my mouth to confess all that had taken place with The Joker; to confess that I have a problem, but hesitated. The guilt was brutally ravished by the darkness. "Great, actually. So, who will I be evaluating today?" The day went by in a blushing blur of  
confusion, exhaustion, and even a touch of… romance.

Parked outside of my apartment, a mist of loneliness tainted my skin. I began to sulk. My eyes filled with the sting of repressed emotion. "No…" I grit my teeth. I exited the car and slammed the door: the vibration shook my skull. I entered the apartment building to frivolous faces. I kept my head down. I tried to avoid them all, but the paranoia was so intense; they just stared. The voices arose from the dark corners of my mind: _Stop… You are worthless… Stop trying… Let it happen… Go away… Kill them…_

I arrive at my room, rip open the door, and slam it shut. "STOP!" I fell in a heap on the floor. I held my head in my hands. After I had my fill of self pity, I looked up to meet his face, "Oh, having a little Schizo episode, are we?" I stared in disbelief, "How the hell…" I let my voice trail off with hurt and disdain. "What the fuck is it to you? Why are you here?" He stared, "I could ask you the same thing." Every bit of agony I was previously suffering from melted away into the corners of my mind. I smirked, "Aww, you're an over-protective boyfriend already. I like you."

He was taken aback, "No. I just do what I do best." "Which is?" "I took your little plan and turned it on itself."


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

_I am released from the hospital. The van was totaled, so I have no choice but to rent a car. I have no family, no friends. I have no one to turn to. I am alone. I was abandoned by the only person I had. It may not have been his choice, but it happened. Now, here I am, alone. The only person I love ripped from the quilt of life he and I had just begun to weave. _

"Who said I had a plan?" "These," he threw Harleen's files on the floor. "I was clearly an interest of yours before you were ever an interest of mine." I shook my head in disbelief. "I just came to get…," I walked, searching, "Ah! This." I picked up my black, leather journal. "It has my psyche evaluations in it." He gave me a look. "You really think I'm stupid?" "What?" "I practically _own_ that asylum. I know how things work! The files stay in your office," He spat out the final words as though they had a bad taste. "I never said these were evaluations from the asylum. These are personal evaluations."

"Of who?" "Whom." "What?" "You mean, 'Of whom?'. 'Who' is not the correct pronoun." He gave me a critical look, then left. A sigh of relief relinquished the pit of fear in my stomach. _Now to get what I came for. _I went to my jewelry box and lifted the golden band with a single, heart-shaped diamond. I slid it onto my ring finger and admired it. The diamond glittered like sparklers in July. I skipped over to my closet and gingerly lifted the white, lace dress out. I held the dress against myself and observed its gracing of the troughs and crests of my body. I frowned at the memories that rushed through my temples pulsated with pain.

I sat on my bed and admired the dress as I pulled out the needle, syringe, and little, glass vile of Dilaudid. I laid the needle against my skin, exhaled, and pushed. The familiar chill ran through my veins and allowed my mind to cease its wandering. I lied back on the bed and ran my hand along the lace corset of the dress. The ring's glistening diamond slowly turned to darkness as my eyes closed with the promise of limpid sleep.

_I resign from the New York Youth Philharmonic and begin college. I decide to major in psychology and biochemistry. I move to GothamCity: Jeremiah Arkham's asylum has a reputation. I enroll in GothamUniversity and graduate within six years. _

I awoke to the ambient sounds of the city; the beeps of car horns, the roars of engines, pedestrians' demands of taxis to halt. It's all so _boring, _so _mundane_: there isn't one person in Gotham who can say they don't live by a schedule. Well, except for the Joker, of course. Is that what it is? Is spontaneity the adrenaline that rushes through my veins every time my eyes are lured in by his cold stare? I'm not certain. That scares me the most.

_This is my third year working as a psychologist in the asylum and it never gets easier. Families bring in loved ones with false hopes of recovery, but leave knowing their loved one's fate. One would assume churches are the most holy of all buildings, but I know they are not. The wall of a hospital has heard more prayers than the wall of a church._

Just as my back touched the familiar comfort of my pillow, my television came on. I sat up and there he was, holding the remote. "Ick. News. Why do people watch this stuff?" His face was contorted in disgust. "Anyways, how have _you_ been?" He looks at the white, lace dress lying crumpled on the bed and looks at me with a raised eyebrow, "I didn't know you were _engaged._" The way he drew out the word made it sting a little more, "Who said I was engaged?" I retorted. "Well, there's a wedding dress that you obviously hold dear, quite literally, and a glistening, gold ring on your finger." He gave me a look. "I'm not. It doesn't matter. Why are you here?"

"Well, why else would I be here but to pick up my lovely little helper?" He brought my chin up to look him in the eye. His eyes were blue pools of confusion that captured me. Though it was only a couple of seconds, it seemed as though we had been staring at each other for quite some time. I was utterly lost in his eyes when I realized it; his pupils were dilated.

"What about your 'lovely little helper' Harley? Or should I say Harlot?" I had to break away from his gaze. Though I covered my confusion up easily, I couldn't help but wonder. He seemed surprised when I broke the silence, but quickly recuperated, "Oh, look who's cracking jokes. Now c'mon." I got up and began to make my coffee. He sat rather patiently as I got myself together.

I recognized the soft tune he was humming, "Papageno's Aria. It's from The Magic Flute by Mozart." The corners of his mouth slowly rose up into a slight smile. His eyes were closed; however, it was the most human I had ever seen him look. "I didn't know you took delight in listening to classical music." His eyes opened slowly, "There's a lot you don't know." I dismissed his comment with a smirk, though it plagued my consciousness with a plethora of questions.

We loaded into the rusted van: the silence that ricocheted off the walls was unnerving. His voice startled me, "Your silence implies thought." I turned in the passenger seat to look at him. Blotches of alabaster skin shone through the white, powder mess upon his face. "I'm always thinking. That's what I do." He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, "Oh, you sound like a _dear friend_ of mine. We're going to see him today."

"The sarcastic tone you used on the phrase 'a dear friend' makes it seem like he's nothing of the sort. What does he have that you need? You know, you're really needy. You can't do anything without the aid of someone else." He slams on the brakes and turns to look at me, "Who do you think you are? Don't act like you're any better than me. You're not or else you would've already gone to the police. You're _just_ like me. The twisted part is _you like it._" "It's 'I'." His face dropped, "What?" "It's 'just like I', not 'just like me'." He let out a frustrated sigh, "You didn't deny that you like it." I grin, "Never said I didn't."

We pulled into an alley behind the asylum. A knot formed in my stomach, "What the _hell_ are we doing here?!" He busted into fits of laughter, "Oh…" his breathing was shallow, "It's cute how you still _care. _Hehehe!" The side door of the van slid open with force. "I see you've gotten an upgraded Harley, Joker," the dark haired man looked at me over his glasses and smirked. "Dr. Crane?!" I was dumbfounded.

"I knew there was something I liked about you," He shut the van door as the Joker abruptly pulled away, "and please, call me Jonathan." "Hmph," I crossed my arms, "That's why you stood me up last Saturday at Lé Café, right?" The Joker stifled a laugh, "Having domestic issues?" I turn to him, "Shut the FUCK up." I turn back to Jonathan, "Care to explain?" He pursed his lips in his 'I-am-superior-to-you-in-every-way' fashion and began, "I was busy working for him," he nonchalantly pointed to the Joker, "It honestly slipped my mind."

"It's okay, I don't particularly care," I thoughtlessly replied as I turned back around to face the road. The Joker looked over at me with a raised eyebrow, "Then why'd you just make a big deal out of it?" "I didn't feel it was a big deal, personally. I just wanted to know how he'd handle me when put under pressure. It takes a very particular kind of man to handle me." The Joker smirked. He and Jonathan began discussing Jonathan's fear toxin and Batman. Their discussion quickly faded from my conscious as the familiar pain began to pulsate in my temples.

I lost track of time for I was consumed in thought. _What am I doing? How did I not know Crane was insane? He's working along side the most sought after criminal. Crane is a noted pharmapsychologist, he has a stable life ahead of him. What is he doing!? _Then it hit me - I'm doing the exact same thing.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

"ELAINE?!" It was Jonathan's voice that echoed through my skull and interrupted my thoughts. After realizing the van had stopped, I turned from the window to face him and The Joker. Jonathan had a befuddled bend in his brow; however, The Joker had a subtle shade of worry in his eyes. "We've been trying to get your attention," Jonathan's tone contained a hint of concern. "I was thinking. Sorry." "Are you sure it isn't another one of your schizo episodes?" The Joker's tone was malicious. "Oh?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow out of curiosity. "Yeah," the Joker continued, "Back at her apartment, she had a full out episode: paranoia, voices, and all, Doc."

I sat unmoving in the chair, face forward; my jaw clenched. "Oh," Jonathan began, "Well, in my many years of study, that's Schizophrenia Parano-" "YOU KNOW NOTHING," I slammed the side of my fist against the passenger window, leaving a jagged crack, "It is NOT Schizophrenia Paranoia. It is Manic Depressive Disorder or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Probably both, considering all the shit I've been through. If you were such a fucking renowned pharmapsychologist, you would have _known_ that." The pain in my temples began to throb as my anger recessed.

Jonathan got out of the van and straightened his suit jacket. "I wouldn't have suspected anger would ravish your mouth as a medium in such fashion as it just did, Ms. Balafré," he stated, looking slightly shaken. He walked away briskly, suitcase in hand. I was fidgeting with my hands when I realized the red pond forming in my palm. "You got a little fight in you," the Joker remarked, "I like that." I opened the van door and let myself slowly down. Once I was erect, I surveyed my surroundings; an abandoned factory in the midst of Gotham. There were cars whizzing by, pedestrians walking hastily with phones held to their ears. My breathing suddenly turned shallow and I could feel my heart in my throat. _No, _I begged myself, _Not here, not now._ I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to turn and run.

_What am I doing? Why am I allowing myself to work under _him_? _Tears began to line the rims of my eyes. _I'm already enough of a freak, I can't have an anxiety attack now. _I decide to run. I turn with intentions of making my escape, but instead come face to face with the Joker. "Having second thoughts?" He scoffed. "That's not allowed." He put his hand on my shoulder to turn me around. "Kill off your humanity. You owe them nothing." He was right. If anything, they owed _me_.

I stood beside Jonathan as we concocted his fear toxin, "So, now that I know how to create it, couldn't I just as easily create an antidote and spoil your evil plans?!" I laughed. "In theory, yes. You could," he smiled. Jonathan wasn't a bad looking guy. In fact, he was actually quite handsome. "What if I did?" I leaned and nudged him teasingly. "You wouldn't," he stated. "Oh, I wouldn't?" The mood in the room was suddenly solemn. "No, you wouldn't," he turned and scrutinized me over the rims of his glasses, "You would be helping implement them."

I stood, taken aback by the truth in his statement and the casual demeanor in which he said it. "Jonathan?" He was holding his Erlenmeyer flask up against the light, examining its contents, "Yes?" He replied, mouth agape in concentration. "Do you think I'm a bad person for doing this?" "Hmm? Oh," Sudden realization set in. "If I were to say yes, what would that deduce about me?" He caught my glaze and held it for a while, as if trying to say something without _saying_ it.

I went back to measuring and mixing. I was consumed in my work when Jonathan spoke, "Are you free tonight?" "What are you talking about? I'm expensive as fuck. I'm only free on Wednesdays." "Oh, I'm in luck then," he chuckled. "What?" "It's Wednesday."

"_Damn_."

"So, after explaining the Kraepelin-Bleuler-Schneider concept of Schizophrenia to reinforce my diagnosis, the board still requested a second opinion," Jonathan ranted while he cut his steak. "The way they handled it was just so puerile," he shook his head at the memory before consuming the impaled steak on his fork. "They _still_ wanted a second opinion? That's frustrating," I took a sip of my wine. "I tend to favor Bleuler's concept over Kraepelin's, which makes sense considering Kraepelin's concepts were the foundation for Bleuler's own."

Jonathan put down his silverware and laced his fingers into an arch front of his mouth. I looked up from my plate to meet his gaze, "How long have you been staring at me like that?" "You are underestimated." His blunt statement took me by surprise, "Hmm?" My brow bent with confusion, "What do you mean?" He removed his hands and smiled, "You're intelligent. Amply, so." I cocked my head in confusion, "Because I have specialized knowledge in my career field?" I chuckled, "I wrote a vignette on Bleuler my sophomore year in high school, but thank you."

Jonathan walked me to my apartment door on his arm. "I must admit, I had a great time tonight, Ms. Balafré." "What? Were you expecting a bad time?" I laughed. "Please, call me Elaine," I smiled. I released Jonathan's arm when we reached my door, "This one's mine." My eyes locked with his and I was suddenly engulfed with a burning desire for him. I took a step towards him, my hand on his chest. His hand cradled the small of my back as he leaned to close the gap between us with a gentle kiss. He began to pull away, but I wouldn't let him.

The kiss gradually grew in intensity until I broke away to whisper, "You wanna stay the night?" He blinked, surprised by my guilelessness, "I'm not sure that's a good idea." I raised my hand from his chest to his cheek. I sighed, "You're probably right." He leaned in and kissed me again. "I really did have a great time, Jonathan." "As did I," he smiled, "Good night, Elaine," and with that, he was gone.

_My skin radiates a warm glow from the sun. The water acts as a mirror; reflecting the sun's rays into a spiritual dance. Fresh cut grass, sweet lemonade, and barbeque smoke entice my nostrils with tantalizing scents. The sound of music fills our ears and our hearts._

I continually tossed and turned in my bed.

_I am plodding my way through the crowd; bodies pushing and sliding against one another. I feel as though I'm looking for something; no, someone._

My body was burning; the cold sting of sweat pierced my flesh.

_I turn and see his face. I gasp. "Hello, Lane."_

I shot up in bed. I looked around the room expecting to be with him. I sat trying to steady my breathing. _Inhale._ I leaned over to pull the handle of the drawer. _Exhale._ I cradled the cool glass in my palm. _Inhale. _I gripped the syringe with caution, pushing it into the rubber opening of the glass. _Exhale._ The bottom of the vial turned to the sky as the syringe filled with liquid memories. _Inhale._ I took the syringe out and lay it against my skin; cool steel enticed my senses. _Exhale. _I closed my eyes. _Inhale._ And here… we… go. _Exhale._


End file.
